


tell me something dangerous and true

by sister_coyote



Series: Revolutionaries of Memory [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Backstory, Elemental Magic, Intrigue, Multi, OrgXIII, Politics, Power Play, Pre-Canon, Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-05
Updated: 2007-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are both curious, too—they are all curious, the three of them—and that more than being underestimated is what binds them together, the secret faction, the revolutionaries of memory. They are curious. They do not have faith in Xemnas, because they do not have faith in anything. They must find out themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me something dangerous and true

**Author's Note:**

> Significant spoilers for Chain of Memories; mild spoilers for Kingdom Hearts 2.

The reason Marluixa seeks them out—these two, Eight and Twelve, of all the Organization—is this: they are underestimated. Or rather they are mis-estimated.

He watches Larxene stalk into the great hall, lightning striking in her wake; he sees Axel's eyes green as poison taking everything in with a shrewdness concealed by his fiery talents and cocky words. He bides his time.

* * *

Larxene is not hard to convince: but then, she is not stupid, for all that she is also not subtle.

"I wasn't meant to be like them," she says, speaking of the Six, the scientists, the inner circle. "I've never been . . . " Her lip curls a little. " . . . _careful_."

He smiles a little. This world they are on suits her; he chose it for that purpose. She must know that, and yet she accepts it as her due. He wonders who she was, in her first life. The air thickens and clouds swirl, and though it does not actually thunder yet, still the promise of it is ever present in the air. "Indeed not. It is one of the first traits I admired in you."

She slants him a glance from lidded eyes. "Flattery."

"Oh, but true flattery nonetheless." He bows. "I do not think so little of your intellect, that I would try to soften you with meaningless sweet words."

She turns, so quick that the long trailing strands of her hair whip around, and her eyes narrow. "I think you're the first to suggest I might have an intellect at all."

"I have seen how many hours you spend in the library," he said. "I doubt you are there for the ambiance."

She is silent a moment, and then smiles, lightning-quick and bright. "You have been paying attention."

"Think on it," he says. "What I have suggested."

She has agreed to ally with him, in secret, within the space of ten days' time.

* * *

There is no physical component to their alliance at first. That was not why he sought her out—he sought her out because she is fearless and straightforward, ferocious, curious, intelligent. She is the best kind of dangerous. These traits are surely attractive to him (inasmuch as anything can be attractive to him, with his nature stunted as it is by lack of heart) but it is not worth risking his first and (as yet) only ally by making a foolish first step.

She, of course, has no such qualms; so it is she who comes first to him.

She is direct, as with everything; unhesitating, and also fierce. He bends like the willow, the vine; bends but does not yield, and she seems to delight in that, she who is first among all things unyielding. The lightning does not ask the tree whether it wishes to be struck. But in some cases, as with this, the tree responds with fire.

After, sweaty and breathless, she laughs, laughs and laughs, and says, "I think you're impossible to terrorize."

"I expect you will do your best," he says gravely, pushing a sweaty lock of hair from his face.

* * *

Axel, too, is not given his due. He is deceptive. His manner, his bearing, and the nature of his power speak to a fearsome forthrightness much like Larxene's lightning-strike unsubtlety; and yet he _is_ subtle, and canny, and circumspect. He is no fool either.

"I don't trust him," Larxene says, stretching, and he admires the line of her breast and belly and throat, slim and compact and neat as her knives.

"Well shouldn't you," Marluxia says. "He is untrustworthy."

Larxene rolls over, looking over her shoulder at him. "You're also untrustworthy," she says. "But you, I trust."

He lays a hand on her back. "We are in too deep together—you could destroy me, or I you. And you would act first, I think, and faster. You trust me because you know I am not stupid enough to try you."

She laughs, then, her shoulders shaking beneath his hand. "Maybe so," she says. "And I would sooner stab you in the face than the back, so you needn't fear treachery here. But Axel—"

"—will prove useful." He rubs between her shoulders. "We are too few, the two of us. And he is powerful, grant him that. And clever."

She rolls her shoulders, and he can feel the tension drain from them as she acquiesces.

* * *

In the end it is Larxene who convinces Axel, despite herself.

"You're curious," she says. "Don't pretend you aren't. You want to know what we're up to. And the thing that makes us different from _them_ . . . ."

Axel's eyes slit narrow, just thin slivers of green. "Yeah?"

" . . . is that we'll _tell_ you." She leans back, and Axel cants forward just a little; he probably does not even know he is doing it. Marluxia cannot help but be pleased.

"Let me guess," Axel says, disengaging. "You'll make it worth my while." His tone drips with sarcasm, but Marluxia can tell from the way his eyes track Larxene's face that he's intrigued.

Larxene turns disdainful. "You haven't been paying attention," she says. "You'll make it worth your own while. Which is a damn sight better than you'll get here." Her gesture encompasses not only the castle but this whole sterile world.

Axel smiles.

* * *

"He could lead," Larxene says, later, in Marluxia's garden, "or he could follow. Either one. He wants followers, though."

"Too bad," Marluxia says. The poppy blooms under his hand.

"Mmm," Larxene agrees. "Nonetheless. I think he'll come. Even if he cannot have followers, better to have some agency of his own than to follow."

"And he is curious," Marluxia says.

* * *

They are both curious, too—they are all curious, the three of them—and that more than being underestimated is what binds them together, the secret faction, the revolutionaries of memory. They are curious. They do not have faith in Xemnas, because they do not have faith in anything. They must find out themselves.

That is what leads Larxene and Marluxia to Axel, in the end. Curiosity. (And perhaps, if Marluxia is honest with himself, the same impulse—moth to a flame, flower to the sun—that drew him to recruit the most unpredictable and dangerous members of the Organization.)

Axel is not surprised—and perhaps that should be a warning. But he is not unwelcoming, in his way, either.

He is not swift and unhesitating like Larxene. He is slow: slow like the meandering of sparks, slow like the burn of a coal. Slow. She is yet herself, and they draw blood and burns of one another, literally and metaphorically. Marluxia has always been slow himself. He watches them struggle. They are well-matched.

"You bastard," she says, her voice strained and angry and yet eager, and she puts her hand on Axel's shoulder and flips him over, rises over him. Marluxia traces the line of the back of her thigh, damp with sweat, but does not help her; she would not thank him for it.

Axel narrows his eyes and smiles, and does not try to turn her over but arches as she sinks onto him, like he wanted this all along—like he got her to fight for exactly what he wanted; and Marluxia sees that Larxene sees that expression and hisses a curse, and then laughs, low and throaty. "I think you're a liar," she says. "I don't think you wanted it this way. You just want me to think you've won."

"But you won't know," Axel says. "Will you?"

"If you mean to torment someone with indecision, you shouldn't pick me," Larxene says, and her pace is fast—and Marluxia strokes himself slow and hard, watches, bides his time. "I don't play those kinds of games, Axel, you should know that by now."

Axel says nothing, but his eyes narrow; and they do not say anything more until she tenses and swears and it is over. Axel follows minutes later, silently, though there is fire written in the planes of his face.

Marluxia expects to finish himself, and is not discontent; but Larxene rolls over and gives him a sly look and says, "Need some help?" He laughs a little, and leans back, and lets her: her mouth fire-warm, the edges of her teeth sharp as her blades: not biting, but reminding him they're there. His eyes close and he drops his head forward; it will not take long. They open again briefly and light on Axel, who is stretched out, watching—and his expression is unreadable and dangerous in a way that makes Marluxia pause.

But within moments more he comes, like the uncoiling tension of a thunderclap, like a leaf unfurling, and Axel's expression fades from importance.

Larxene lifts her head and licks her lips, her smile sharp-edged and satisfied. Marluxia touches her shoulder, looks up again at Axel, and again his expression makes Marluxia uneasy. He wonders fast and sudden whether Larxene was right.

But it is too late now; they have nowhere to go but forward. He holds out his hand, and after a moment the expression is gone from Axel's face and he takes it, and Larxene's covers both of theirs; and if it is an unstable alliance, well, that is the way of things.

They are none of them safe people.


End file.
